


50 Hues Between White and Black

by sariloire



Category: 50 Shades of Grey - E. L. James
Genre: F/M, and not abusive, i got tired of adding character and relationship tags, lessgo, so all the same characters and relationships apply, story rewrite, trying to stay as close to the original as possible but make christian not an asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 12:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19131826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariloire/pseuds/sariloire
Summary: A 50 Shades rewrite, if Christian Grey wasn't abusive, Ana wasn't a doormat, and the red room was never used for revenge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own 50 Shades of Grey, the characters, or the situations. This is "satire", written to see how close I can keep it to the original while still making it actually good (I hope?).

“Ana?”

Call me pessimistic, but I know that tone of voice. My roommate, Kate Kavanagh, only talks like that when she needs a favour. And since she’s been sick the past week, she’s needed _a lot_ of favours.

“Yeah, Kate? What’s up?” I put down the newspaper I had just finished flipping through – the front page covered with an article about some CEO-of-the-year – and walk from my room into the living room, glancing around.

My best friend Kate is huddled in a blanket on the couch, looking miserable, grasping at a few sheets of paper and a recorder. “You remember that big interview I spent like a year scheduling?” She asks, and I feel my heart sink.

“Yes, why?” I don’t remember the details, but I couldn’t forget the celebration we had had when Kate secured the interview with whatever big name she had chased after for so long. “Wait, that’s not _today_ , is it?”

I don’t have to wait for an answer, Kate’s downcast expression says it all for me. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out. I _can’t_ blow this off, it would take another year to reschedule and we’ll have graduated by then. Is there any way you could…” she trailed off, her eyes taking on a pleading look.

I pause for a second, hoping she’s going to laugh and say it had all been a joke, but she doesn’t. I have finals to study for, essays to write, laundry to do, and…

And a very sick, very dear friend on the couch begging me to help her with what will probably be the most important interview of her undergraduate career.

Sighing, I perch on the arm of the couch, looking down at her. “Who is it?”

In the absence of a direct no, Kate brightens. “Christian Grey, CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. All you have to do is ask him these questions,” she holds out the papers and recorder she had been clutching, “and take some notes. I’ll transcribe it all when you get back.”

I reach out and take the papers and recorder, staring down at the questions without really reading them, feeling the doubt creeping in. “I know nothing about him.” I murmur, more to myself than anything, trying to suppress my rising panic. “And you know I’ve never been great at interviews.”

“You’ll be fine, the questions will get you through.” She motions towards the door, her blanket moving with her arms. “You should go, though, it’s a long drive and I don’t want you to be late.”

I shove the papers into my satchel, catching sight of myself in the mirror by the door. My hair is a fright. I fell asleep studying last night when it was still wet, and I was paying for it today. It refused to lie down, even my bangs were being unruly and sticking out in odd directions. Sliding a ponytail off my wrist, I pull my hair into a quick ponytail and call it done.

“I’ll owe you for like the rest of my life.” Kate spoke up, watching me try to smooth some of the wrinkles out of my skirt. I kept the sigh silent this time. Kate is editor of the student newspaper and, as much as I wish she would just cancel it, I know she can’t. Damn Kate and her extra-curricular activities. “ _Please_ , Ana.”

“Of course I’ll go, Kate.” I answer, throwing a spare blanket at Kate since she had started shivering. “You should get back to bed. Do you want me to grab you some medicine before I head out?”

“Nyquil, please.”

I grab the Nyquil bottle and hand it to her, checking for my phone. “Okay, I’m going. Get back to bed, I made you some soup to heat up later.” I sling the satchel, now containing the questions and recorder, over my shoulder. “You know I would only do this for you, right, Kate?”

“I know, and I really will owe you forever for this.” Kate grins, giving me a thumbs up. “Good luck, Ana, you’re my lifesaver, as usual.”

 

* * *

 

The roads are clear as I set out from Vancouver towards Portland in the beautiful Mercedes CLK that Kate lent me. Neither Kate nor myself were sure if my old VW Beetle, Wanda, would have held up to the journey – or made it in time. I have hours to spare, so I push the gas pedal down and enjoy the ride.

I reach my destination with time to spare, so I stop and look up at the building in front of me. It’s Mr. Grey’s global enterprise, a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel. The _Grey House_ written across the doors in steel just added to my belief that this building must have been an architect’s utilitarian fantasy.

Taking a deep breath, I walked through the front doors into a glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby. Behind the solid sandstone desk is a very attractive young blonde woman who smiled pleasantly when our eyes met. She’s wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen, looking immaculate in comparison to my blue sweater and one and only skirt.

“I’m here to see Mr. Grey.” I’m surprised that I even have a voice with how out of sorts that I feel at the moment. Nothing about this building makes me feel like I belong in this setting. “Anastasia Steele for Katherine Kavanagh.”

I notice one of her eyebrows arch slightly as I stand self-consciously before her. “Excuse me one moment, Miss Steele.” As she glances at my clothes before looking to her computer monitor, I begin to wish that I had borrowed proper business clothes from Kate. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and try to pretend that the receptionist doesn’t intimidate me. After a few moments of clicking, she spoke again. “Miss Kavanagh is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Steele.” She motions towards the book sitting toward the desk in front of her. “You’ll want the last elevator on the right, up to the twentieth floor.”

She hands me a security badge after I sign, the badge had VISITOR stamped across the front in big letters. I can’t help my smirk as I look over it. Surely it’s obvious to everyone in the building that I’m just visiting, I don’t fit in here at all.

_'Nothing changes.’_ I inwardly sigh, thanking her before walking over to the bank of elevators past the two security men who are just as sharply dressed as the receptionist was.

The elevator takes me to the twentieth floor without stopping. As the doors open and I step out, I see that I’m in another large lobby decorated quite the same as the first. There’s even another desk staffed by yet another young blonde woman who rises to greet me.

“Miss Steele, could you wait here, please?” She asks, motioning to a seating area of white leather chairs. I nod and make my way over to the chairs, distracted by the floor-to-ceiling window beyond the chairs that looked out over the Seattle skyline towards the Sound. It’s a stunning view, and I’m momentarily paralyzed by the sight.

Sitting down to rest my shaking legs, I fish out the questions from my bag, deciding that I should at least start reading through them. It was frustrating that Kate hadn’t provided me a biography. I knew next to nothing about this man, he could be ninety or forty-nine. The uncertainty surrounding the ma I’m about to interview is unnerving and it makes my nerves resurface. I’ve never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, I prefer group discussions where I can blend in with the crowd and sit in the back of the room. If I was being completely honest with myself, I just preferred my own company. Reading a classic novel while curled up in a chair in the library was my idea of a good day, not twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone edifice.

I roll my eyes at myself. _‘Get a grip, Steele.’_

“Miss Steele?” I jerk my head up, having been too deep in my own thoughts to notice another flawless young blonde that had stepped out of the door to my right. _‘What is with all the immaculate blondes?’_

“Yes,” I croak, clearing my throat as I stand up. “Yes.” I repeat, trying to sound more confident.

“Mr. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?”

“Oh, yes please.” I respond, feeling my face flush as I struggle out of it.

“Have you been offered any refreshment?” She asks, probably in response to my inability to talk clearly.

“Um – no.” I answer honestly, glancing behind her to where the other blonde sat at the desk. Blonde Number Three frowned slightly and turned to also look at Blonde Number Two.

“What would you like? We have tea, coffee, and water.” She asks, turning her attention back to me.

“A glass of water, thank you.” I respond, wishing desperately that I didn’t need the water so that I could have avoided causing trouble for the second woman.

“Olivia, please fetch Miss Steele a glass of water.” Three calls out, and Two stands up immediately and scurries towards the opposite side of the foyer and disappears through a door. Three watched her for a few moments before turning back to me. “My apologies, Miss Steele, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated, Mr. Grey is finishing up a meeting and will be another few minutes.”

Once Olivia returns with my glass of water, she follows Three back to the large desk where they both begin typing away at the computers in front of them. I sit back down in one of the white leather chairs, turning the glass in my hand as I gratefully down the water.

I have just enough time to finish the water when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive African-American man exits. My feeling of being under-dressed soars even higher than before.

The man turns and calls through the door, “Golf this week, Grey.”

I don’t hear the response, but the man catches my eye as he turns to leave and he smiles at me. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator, seeming as nervous as I am with the way she springs from her seat with the slightest reason. The man nods towards us as he walks towards the elevator doors. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele.” Three calls out. “Do go through, you don’t need to knock.”

I stand rather shakily, trying to suppress my nerves. I gather my bag, abandoning my empty glass and make my way towards the partially open door. I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet and falling headfirst into the office.

_‘Me and my two left feet!’_ Is all I can think as I’m on my hands and knees in the doorway to Mr. Grey’s office. I feel gentle hands around my arms, helping me to stand. I’m so embarrassed at my own clumsiness that I have to steel myself to glance up. I was unprepared for the man standing in front of me. He’s younger – much younger – than I expected.

“Miss Kavanagh.” He extends a hand to me once I’m upright and back on my feet. “I’m Christian Grey. Are you alright? Please, feel free to sit.” He motions towards the nearby chairs with a slight movement of his head.

Not only is he young, but also startlingly attractive. He’s tall, dressed in a fine grey suit with a black tie, and his unruly copper coloured hair only accent the bright grey eyes that regard me shrewdly, studying me just as I’m studying him. It takes a moment for me to find my voice.

“Um, actually-“ I start, swallowing at the tenseness I feel in my throat. I realise he’s still holding a hand out to me, and I dazedly place my hand in his to shake it. I withdraw it quickly, feeling a shiver run through me as our fingers touch. Feeling my cheeks flush, I wish I could clear my head. This guy can’t be over thirty, much less the ninety I had guessed earlier. “Miss Kavanagh is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Grey.”

“And you are?” He asks, his voice warm. I can almost hear some amusement in his tone, but it’s difficult to know for sure from his impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.

“Anastasia Steele,” I answer, trying to meet his gaze and hold it. “I’m studying English Literature with Kate, um, Miss Kavanagh, at Washington State.”

“I see.” He answers simply. I can see the faintest trace of a smile on his face as he waves towards the chairs again. “Would you like to sit?”

His office is much too large, but fitting to his station as CEO. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, which have the same breath-taking view as the windows in the waiting area, there’s a huge dark wood desk that’s large enough for a family to eat around. It matches the coffee table by the chairs. Everything else is white, similarly fashioned to the foyers I had passed through on my way here. When my eyes stop on the artwork on the walls, Grey speaks as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. “A local artist. Trouton.”

“They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to the extraordinary.” I murmur, distracted by both him and the paintings. He cocks his head to the side and regards me intently.

“I couldn’t agree more, Miss Steele.” He replies, and I don’t know if it’s his small smile or his soft voice that cause me to blush more.

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office seems cold and clinical. I can’t help but wonder if it reflects the personality of the man who sinks gracefully into one of the chairs opposite me. I shake my head, trying to change the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Kate’s questions from my bag. I fumble with the recorder, dropping it twice and I try to set it up on the coffee table in front of me. Mr. Grey says nothing, waiting patiently – I hope – as I feel my cheeks becoming more and more red as I become more flustered. When I work up the courage to look at him, he’s watching me with one hand relaxed on his lap and the other resting against his chain, his long index finger trailing across his lips. This time I’m sure he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“Sorry,” I stutter, fumbling with the papers in my lap. “I’m not used to this.”

“Take all the time you need, Miss Steele,” he says, letting his small smile show through.

“Do you mind if I record your answers?” I say the words, my eyes coming to rest on the recorder I just spent several minutes setting up. “Oh, I should have asked you that before I set it up.”

“ _Now_ you ask me.” He responds, and I flush. I think he’s teasing me, but it’s hard to tell. Before I get a chance to respond, he continues, “No, I don’t mind.”

I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. “Did Miss Kavanagh explain what the interview was for?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “it’s to appear in a graduation issue of the student newspaper, along with a writeup of the graduation ceremony since I’m conferring degrees this year.”

_Oh._ This is news to me, and I’m temporarily preoccupied by the thought that someone not much older than me is going to be presenting me with my degree. I try again to drag my attention off of Grey and back to the task at hand. “Good,” I swallow as I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, “I have some questions, Mr. Grey.”

“Yes, I thought you might,” he says, deadpan. I can’t help but chuckle, and I’m given a smile in return. I reach forward and press the start button on the recorder.

“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” I catch the slightest sound of a sigh coming from him, and I glance up. His smile is rueful, but he looks ever so slightly disappointed.

“Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I’m very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn’t, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well.” He pauses to take a breath, his grey stare on me. “My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it’s always down to good people.”

“Or, maybe you’re just lucky.” My mind stutters at the response, but it’s too late for me to pull it back. It wasn’t on Kate’s list, but he sounded so arrogant that I didn’t think before speaking. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

“I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Steele. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said ‘the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.’”

“That makes you sound like a control freak.” Again, the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele.” Neither his voice or smile hold any trace of humour anymore. He holds my gaze, impassive, and my face flushes again. It’s unnerving me, the effect he has on me. I wish I knew what it was, and how to make it stop. “Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things.”

“Do you feel that you have immense power?” I ask, the words _‘control freak’_ running through my mind.

“I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Steele.” A humourless chuckle leaves his lips. “That gives me a certain sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.”

“Don’t you have a board to answer to?” I ask, staggered by his lack of humility. The disgust in my tone is evident.

“I own my company. I don’t have to answer to a board.” He raises an eyebrow at me, as if to ask if I had done my research before coming here. Which I hadn’t, but I wasn’t going to admit that. Instead, I change tack.

“And do you have any interests outside your work?”

“I have varied interests, Miss Steele.” This time a ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Very varied.” His gaze once again locks mine, and it seems more heated than before. The light in his eyes looks almost wicked.

“But if you work so hard, what do you do to relax?”

“Relax?” He repeats the word, smiling as if I had made a joke. “Well, I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits. I’m a very wealthy man, Miss Steele, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies.”

I glance down at Kate’s list, wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible so I could get away from the discomfort of his stare. “You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?”

“I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?”

“That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts.” This draws a smile from him again, and his stare lingers on me for a few moments before he answers.

“Possibly. Though, there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.”

“Why would they say that?”

“Because they know me well.” His smile turned wry, and I realized how far I was prying. But that didn’t stop me.

“Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?” The question wasn’t on Kate’s list, and I regret it as soon as I say it. It almost feels as if Grey is drawing these questions out of me himself.

“I’m a very private person, Miss Steele.” He responded with a small shake of his head. “I go a long way to protect my privacy. It’s not often that I give interviews.”

“Why did you agree to do this one?”

“Because I’m a benefactor of the University, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Miss Kavanagh off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity.” He didn’t have to tell _me_ about Kate’s tenacity. That’s what had me here giving this interview under Grey’s penetrating gaze instead of being at home studying for my exams.

“You also invest in farming technologies.” Another glance down at the questions. “Why are you interested in this are?”

“There are far too many people on this planet who don’t have enough to eat, Miss Steele.” Something in his tone caught my attention.

“That sounds very philanthropic. Is feeding the world’s poor something you feel passionately about?” This question was met with a shrug.

“It’s shrewd business.” He responds, but I think he’s avoiding the questions. It doesn’t make sense to me, given how cold and calculating he’s sounded in answering all the other questions. Why would he bother with feeding the poor – something that can’t give him financial benefits in return? I glance at the next question, his attitude confusing me.

“Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”

“I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle – Carnegie’s: ‘A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.’ I’m very singular, driven. I like control – of myself and those around me.”

_‘So you are a control freak.’_ “You want to possess things.”

“I want to deserve to possess them. But yes, bottom line, I do.”

“You sound like the ultimate consumer.”

“I am.” He smiles, but this smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Again, this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the poor, so I can’t help but thinking he’s talking about something else that I’m not picking up on. I swallow hard, the temperature in the room is seeming to rise by the minute. Or is it just me? I just want this interview to be over. I glance at the next question.

“You were adopted. How far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?” As I say the words, I’m cringing. This is personal. I hope he’s not offended.

His brow furrows, “I have no way of knowing.”

My interest is piqued at that. “How old were you when you were adopted?”

“That’s a matter of public record, Miss Steele.” His tone is suddenly stern. I flush in chagrin at that. Yeah, definitely wishing I had had a chance to do that research before this interview. I move on quickly.

“You’ve had to sacrifice a family life for your work.”

“That’s not a question.” His voice moves from stern to terse.

“Sorry.” I squirm in my seat. I feel almost like a child being chastised under that glare. I try again. “Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?”

“I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.”

“Are-“ I catch myself before I finish the next question aloud. _‘Are you gay? Kate, what the fuck were you thinking?’_

“Are…?” He responds, an eyebrow raised.

“Sorry, I didn’t know this question was…” I trailed off as he cocked his head to one side, a cool gleam in his eyes.

“These aren’t your questions, Anastasia?”

The blood drained from my face. _‘Oh no.’_ “Er, no. Kate – Miss Kavanagh – compiled the questions.”

“Are you colleagues on the student paper?”

I have nothing to do with the student newspaper. My face is aflame as I answer with the truth. “She’s my roommate.”

He rubs his chin in quiet deliberation, his eyes never leaving me. “Did you volunteer to do this interview?” He asked, his voice quiet.

Realizing that this interview was quickly being reversed into _him_ questioning _me_ , I couldn’t do anything but answer him back. “I was asked, she’s ill.” I hate how my voice sounds so weak and apologetic.

“That explains a great deal.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Three enters the room.

“Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

“We’re not finished here, Andrea.” He responds, never taking his eyes off of me. I feel glued to my seat. “Please cancel my next meeting.”

Andrea hesitates, gaping at him. She appears lost. He turns his head slowly to face her, raising his eyebrows. She flushes before nodding her head slightly. “Very well, Mr. Grey.” She exits, pulling the door closed behind her as she leaves. Grey frowns in her direction before turning his attention back to me.

“Where were we, Miss Steele?”

_‘We’re back to ‘Miss Steele’. Not good.’_

“Please don’t let me keep you from anything-“

“I would like to know more about you,” he cut me off, his gaze back on mine. “I think that’s only fair.” His gaze is no longer terse, it’s shifted to seem almost alight with curiosity. He leans forward in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. I have to try not to look at his mouth, it’s distracting.

“There’s really not much to know about me.” I answer, flushing again.

“You say you’re studying English Literature, what was it that got you into the classics? Bronte, Austen, or Hardy?”

“Hardy.” I responded immediately, feeling more comfortable with this question than I had anything since I walked into this building.

He responded with the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “I would have guessed Austen.”

I felt a smile coming to face, despite myself. It seemed like my fumble through the intrusive questions had been smoothed over. At least, the glare was gone from his gaze.

“What are your plans after you graduate?” He asked, leaning back in the chair slightly, crossing his legs.

“I’m just trying to get through finals right now, Mr. Grey.” I shrug, “I haven’t made any plans.” _‘Besides coming to Seattle with Kate, finding a place, and finding a job.’_

“And then?”

“And then I was planning on moving here, to Seattle, with Kate.”

This seemed to catch his attention even more than the literature question. He leaned forward again. “We offer an excellent internship program here.” He said, his voice quiet. I bite back a frown at the response, thinking of working in this building full of perfect blonde women in their perfect suits with their perfect manners.

“I don’t think I’d fit in here.” I can’t hold his gaze when I say that, and I look down to my lap.

“Why do you say that?” I look up and his head is cocked to one side, intrigued, with a slight frown over his features.

I can’t help a small laugh, shrugging slightly. “Look at me.”

“I am.” His response is simple, but it weighs in the air with a heaviness that feel tangible. He doesn’t drop my gaze for moments that feel like an eternity, until I finally have to look away, reaching for the recorder so I’d have something to do with my hands. “Would you like me to show you around?” he adds.

The question surprises me, causing me to look up again. “I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive.”

“You’re driving back to WSU in Vancouver?” He sounds surprised, anxious even. He glances out the window, then back to me. I can see the rain spattering the window pane. “Please do drive carefully. Did you get everything you need?” He adds.

“I will, and yes.” I respond, putting the recorder away in my bag. We hadn’t gotten through all the questions, but Kate was going to have to deal. When I looked back up, his eyes are narrowed in speculation.

“Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey.”

“The pleasure’s been all mine. I do hope we meet again.” He says, polite as ever. Before I can rise, he stands and holds out his hand to help me to my feet. When I’m standing, he shakes the hand he’s still holding, his other hand reaching to pluck the sheet of questions from my open bag. “I’ll send Kate my responses to everything we didn’t get to.” He says, a hint of laughter in his eyes.

My face flushes slightly, knowing I had been found out. But I simply nod at him. “Mr. Grey.” I move towards the door, but his legs are much longer and he makes it there before me to open it wide.

“Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele.” He gives a small smile, obviously referring to my less than elegant entry into his office.

“That’s very considerate, Mr. Grey.” I try to hold back my frustration at his hovering, but I probably fail, judging by the way his smile widens. I’m sure he’s teasing me again, but my nerves are so frayed it’s difficult to respond appropriately. I continue walking towards the foyer, and he follows me out to my surprise and the surprise of the blondes at the desk.

“Do you have a coat?” Grey asks.

“Yes.” Olivia leaps up to retrieve my jacket, which Grey takes from her before I can reach for it myself. He holds it up and I shrug into it, feeling ridiculously self-conscious. He places one hand on my shoulder, the other reaching past me to press the elevator button. We stand that way, his hand burning on my shoulder, until the elevator doors open and I hurry into them. _‘I really need to get out of here.’_

When I turn around, he’s leaning against the doorway beside the elevator. His burning grey eyes gaze at me as a smile flickers across his face.

“Anastasia,” he says as a farewell.

“Christian,” I reply. And mercifully, the doors close.


	2. Chapter 2

My heart is pounding.

As soon as the elevator arrives on the first floor, I scramble out of it, stumbling slightly. I manage to not fall onto the immaculate sandstone floor as I race for the wide glass doors. Once I’m outside I raise my face to the cool rain, feeling finally free in the cleansing air of Seattle.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium.

No man has ever affected me the way Christian Grey has. I can think of many reasons why this might be, from his looks, to his wealth, to the power that seemed to emanate off of him. But I don’t understand which one, if any, caused my irrational reaction. What was that all about? I lean against one of the steel pillars, out of sight of the front door, breathing an enormous sigh of relief. I try again to calm down and gather my thoughts, shaking my head. _‘What was that?’_           

Once my heart steadies, I head to my car and attempt to leave the city limits behind. I feel foolish and embarrassed as I think through the interview and the way he seemed to catch me off guard with every response, every smile. Surely I’m over-reacting to something I’ve imagined. He may be attractive, confident, and commanding, but he’s also arrogant and cold. Well, sometimes. At other times he seemed rather warm and inviting, like with his offer to intern at his company.

An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but maybe he’s earned the right to be – he’s accomplished so much at such a young age. I’m irritated Kate didn’t give me at least a biography.

While cruising down I-5, my mind continues to wander. I don’t know what it is that makes someone so driven to succeed, and his cryptic answers didn’t give me any more insight into that. Some of his answers seemed to have hidden meanings, and Kate’s questions – ugh! The adoption question, and even worse, the she wanted me to ask him if he was gay.

My heart stuttered as I remember that question on the paper. The paper that Grey took so he could email Kate the rest of his answers. I groan, slumping down slightly in my seat. I had done so well by not asking it, and it was for nothing. _‘Damnit, Katherine.’_

Checking the speedometer, I push the pedal a bit further, trying to push the memories of Grey’s gaze out of my mind with the movement. _‘Forget it, Ana. Put it behind you.’_ I scold myself. It’s most likely I’ll never have to see him again, no reason to dwell on the meeting and the way his eyes stayed on mine throughout the interview.

I turn on the MP3 player Kate had left in her car and turn the volume up, hoping the music will help to clear my head.

 

* * *

 

Kate and I live in a small community of apartments in Vancouver, close to the WSU campus. I’m lucky – Kate’s parents bought the place and I pay nearly nothing for rent. As I pull up outside, I know Kate is going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she doesn’t give up when she wants something, as I very well know. At least I have the recorder, that way I don’t have to relive it all for her.

“Ana, you’re a goddess!” She says as I walk through the door. She’s sitting in your living room, surrounded by books. Despite the pink flannel pajamas, it looks like she’s been studying for finals. She leaps up from the couch and hugs me hard. “I was beginning to worry after I got Grey’s email. I expected you back sooner.”

“Oh, I thought I made good time. The interview ran over, after all.” I held out the recorder, and she took it with apparent gratitude. I couldn’t stop myself from squirming at the thought of his email, wondering how his tone had been. “Email, you said?”

“Yeah, he said the interview ran over, and that he included the answers to the questions you hadn’t gotten to.” She plugs a pair of earbuds into the recorder, but didn’t put them in her ears. Instead, she gazed up at me. “So, what was he like?”

I struggle to answer her question, not sure how I should respond. What could I say that would describe the myriad of emotions I’m struggling with over one guy? I settled on “He was fine.”

I saw her eyebrows furrow. “Fine? Just fine?”

I shrugged, noncommittally. “I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t have to see him again. He was intimidating, focused, intense – and young. Really young.” I frown at her innocent look. “Why didn’t you give me a biography? I felt like such an idiot for not having done the basic research before I started asking him those questions.”

Kate clamped a hand to her mouth, looking contrite. “Ana, I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

I huff. “Mostly he was really polite, courteous, very formal – and…” I’m babbling, and try to reel my thoughts back in, “and I can understand the fascination.”

“Fascination? You, fascinated by a man? That’s a first.” Kate’s response is accompanied with a smile, and I feel myself tense up at the knowing look she’s giving me. I stand up, headed towards the kitchen, ready to change the subject. My plans of getting Christian Grey out of my head were _not_ going as I had hoped.

“You look better, did you eat your soup?” I ask, looking around for the bowl I had left out.

“Yes, and it was delicious at usual!” She called from the other room.

I check my watch and notice the time. I’ve worked at Clayton’s, a nearby hardware store, since I started WSU. I had time to make at least a few hours on the clock if I rushed. “I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton’s.”

Kate reaches for the earbuds, popping one in. She raises her eyebrows at me. “Ana, you’ll be exhausted.”

I open the door, ready to be out of our apartment. “I’ll be fine, see you later.”

 

* * *

 

When I arrive home later, Kate is wearing her earbuds and typing away on her laptop, obviously transcribing the interview. I feel drained from the drive, the interview, and the shift at Clayton’s. I slump on the couch, resting my head against the cushion behind me, thinking about how far behind I was with my studying after having to spend so long holed up with… _him_.

“You’ve got some good stuff here, Ana.” Kate says, glancing over at me with a quizzical look. “Well done. I can’t believe you didn’t take him up on his offer to show you around, though. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you.”

I felt my face flush. That couldn’t have been the reason. He probably just wanted to show me around so I could see everything that he lorded over in Seattle. I taste a bit of blood and realise I’m biting my lip. Hoping Kate doesn’t notice, I discreetly wipe a hand across my face like I’m trying to smooth the tiredness away.

“I get what you mean by formal. Did you take any notes?” She asks.

_‘Shit.’_ “Uh, no, sorry.”

She grins at the screen. “That’s fine, I can still make an amazing article with this.” I glance over and see her scrolling through images of him on her laptop. “Shame we don’t have some original stills.” She mused. “Good-looking son of a bitch, isn’t he?”

“I suppose so, if you are attracted to that sort… of human.” I finish lamely, trying to sound disinterested.

“The _hot_ type of human?” Kate arches an eyebrow at me, that knowing smile back on her face. “Come on, Ana, even you can’t be immune to his looks.”

Damn, why can’t she just let this go? “Why did you want to know if he was gay?”

She laughed, turning her laptop so I could see the pictures as she scrolled. “He’s never with a date, at any event he goes to.” She turns the screen back to face her. “He said no, by the way. In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t. The whole thing was embarrassing, I’m glad I’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.” That wasn’t _quite_ the truth, but I’d be damned before I let Kate in on that.

“Well, I think he sounds quite taken with you.” She responds with another smile, back to typing away at her laptop.

 

* * *

 

We talk no more about Christian Grey that evening, much to my relief. After we eat, I’m able to sit at the dining table and work on my essay on _Tess of the D’Urbervilles_. By the time I finish, it’s midnight, and Kate has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I’ve accomplished so much in one day.

I curl up on my iron bed, wrapping my mother’s quilt around me. I close my eyes and I’m instantly asleep.

That night I dream of dark places, white cold floors, and piercing grey eyes.

 

* * *

 

For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton’s. Kate is busy too, compiling the last edition of her student magazine so she can relinquish it to the new editor before she has to start cramming for finals as well. By Wednesday she’s feeling much better, and I stop worrying about catching her flu. On Thursday I call my mom in Georgia to check on her, which turns into me listening to her new business venture – candle making – as well as stories concerning her fourth husband, Brad.

“How are things with you, Ana?”

For just a moment, I hesitate. That was a mistake, it grabbed my mom’s full attention. “I’m fine.”

“Have you met someone?” The excitement in her voice is palpable, and I close my eyes, wondering how she can always read what’s in my voice.

“No, Mom, it’s nothing.” I firmly push the grey eyes out of my mind. “You’ll bet the first to know if I do.”

“You really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.”

I move the conversation away from me by asking about Brad, and later that evening I call my stepdad, my mom’s second husband. Ray is the man I consider my father, the man whose name I bear. It’s a brief conversation, Ray is a man of little words. But he’s alive, still watching soccer on TV, and all seems well with him.

 

* * *

 

Friday night, Kate and I are debating what to do with ourselves. We want some time out from studying, working, and definitely away from student newspapers. When the doorbell rings it’s our friend José, clutching a bottle of champagne.

“José! Great to see you!” I give him a brief hug, then wave him into the room. “Come in.”

José is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we’ve been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and José Senior were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too. José is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He’s pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. José has a great eye for a good picture.

“I have news.” He says, his dark eyes twinkling as he grins.

“Don’t tell me – you’ve managed not to get kicked out for another week.” I tease, and he scowls playfully at me.

“The Portland Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month.”

“That’s amazing – congratulations!” Delighted for him, I hug him again and Kate beams at him.

“Way to go José!” She grins. “I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening.”

“Let’s celebrate! I want you to come to the opening.” José says, looking intently at me. I flush, and he glances nervously at Kate. “Both of you, of course.

José and I are good friends, but I know that he’d like to be more. I have to admit that he’s cute and funny, but he’s just not for me. I think of him like the brother I never had. Kate often teases me that I’m missing whatever gene it is that makes me want to date, but the truth is that I just haven’t met anyone who… well, who I’m attracted to. Anyone who makes me weak at the knees with butterflies in my stomach, someone who I stay up all night thinking about.

_‘You mean, you hadn’t need anyone like that until recently.’_ A small voice in my head whispers. I try to banish the thought right away. I am _not_ going there, not after making an idiot of myself at the interview. I may have dreamed about him most nights since then, but that’s probably just my subconscious trying to rid itself of the painful memories.

I watch José open the bottle of champagne. He’s tall and dark, all shoulders and muscles. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me, or if I’ve just read too many books and am expecting too much. I sigh inwardly. At least it seems like José’s finally getting the message that we’re just friends.

The cork makes its loud pop, and José looks up and smiles.

 

* * *

 

Saturday at Clayton’s is a nightmare. The store is bursting at the seams with DIY fanatics waiting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, as well as the two other part timers, and myself, are all rushed off our feet. But there’s a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I’m sitting behind the counter discreetly eating a bagel.

I pull out the registry book and quickly become fully engrosses in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check that the entries match. Then, feeling as if eyes are on me, I glance up and find myself locked in the bold grey gaze of Christian Grey, who’s standing at the counter, staring at me intently.

_‘What the fuck?’_ I felt my heart skip so hard that I thought it was going to cause heart failure.

“What a pleasant surprise, Miss Steele.” His gaze is unwavering and intense, a slight smile on his lips. What the fuck is _he_ doing here, looking like he’s dressed for a day outdoors in his sweater, jeans, and walking boots. I clear my throat, hoping my mouth hadn’t fallen open.

“Mr. Grey,” I whisper, because I can’t quite find my voice. His eyes are lit with humour, and I know he can read the question I’m not asking.

“I was in the area,” he explains, without my prompting. “I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Steele.” His voice is warm and husky, and it sends a tingle up my spine when he talks.

I shake my head to gather my thoughts. My heart is pounding, and once again I’m blushing under his scrutiny. I’m so shaken by the sight of him, out of nowhere, standing in front of me, that I’m finding it hard to remember what I was doing before he appeared. I feel my heart skip another beat as I take in the sight of him, and finally my cognitive functions are restored enough for me to form a sentence.

“Ana, just – call me Ana.” I stammer. “What can I help you with, Mr. Grey?”

He smiles, and again it seems like he’s seeing more than I can see. It’s disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional façade to try and handle this conversation with more grace than a blushing schoolgirl.

“There are a few items I need. Cable ties, masking tape, rope.” His eyes looked amused as he glanced around the store.

“Cable ties are closest, would you like me to show you where they are?” I ask, my voice wavering slightly. A slight frown creases Grey’s brow.

“Please. Lead the way, Miss Steele.” He answered. I try for nonchalance as I walk out from behind the counter, but really I’m just concentrating as hard as possible on not falling over my own feet again. Especially since my legs are suddenly the consistency of jello.

“They’re in with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” My voice sounds a little too bright, but at least it doesn’t waver this time. I keep my eyes firmly on the aisles we pass, not daring to look at him while walking.

“After you,” he motions with a hand, letting me walk past him.

With my heart in my throat, I lead him down one of the aisles towards the electrical section. _‘Why is he in Portland? Why is he here at Clayton’s?’_ And from a tiny part of my brain, the part I try to ignore the most, comes the thought of _‘maybe he’s here to see you’_. I dismiss that thought immediately. Christian Grey has no reasons to see me. The idea is preposterous, I kick it out of my head.

“Are you in Portland on business?” I ask, my voice still sounding strange with the false bravado I’m adding to it. He doesn’t seem to notice, or at least, he doesn’t comment on it.

“I’m visiting the WSU farming division. It’s based at Vancouver, and I’m currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science.” He says, matter-of-factly. _‘See, not here to see you at all.’_ I flush at my thoughts.

“All part of your feed-the-world plan?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light and teasing.

“Something like that,” he acknowledges, his lips quirking in a half smile.

He gazes at the selection of cable ties, his fingers trailing across the packages. I watch his hands as he selects a package, before he turns to me, catching me staring. “These will do.” He says, still with a smile on his face, causing me to blush again.

“Next is probably,” I look around. “masking tape? This way.” I glance behind me as he follows. “Are you renovating?”

“Not exactly,” he responds, his smile turning slightly into a smirk, and I get the feeling that he’s laughing at some kind of inside joke. “Have you worked here long?” His voice is low, and he’s gazing at me, his expression thoughtful as we make our way through the store.

I hate how his eyes make me feel like I’m fourteen again – out of place, and always blushing. “Four years.” I answer as we reach the decorating aisle. To distract myself, I reach down and pick up the two widths of masking tape that we stock, holding them both out to him.

“I’ll take that one.” Grey says softly, pointing to the wider tape. I pass it to him and our fingers brush briefly. I feel that shiver run through me again at his touch, and this time I feel it all the way down to my belly, pooling there. Desperately I put my hands in my pockets, trying to regain some sense of equilibrium.

“What else were you looking for?” I ask, my voice coming out husky and breathy. I don’t miss the way his eyes widen ever so slightly.

“Some rope, I think.” His voice mirrors mine, husky.

I take a step back, before managing to turn away and start walking towards the rope section. “This way. What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope, twine, cable cord…” my words trailed off and I glanced over my shoulder and saw him watching me, his eyes darkening.

“I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope, please.”

I quickly measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, my hands trembling, aware that his heated darkened gaze is on me. I knew I couldn’t look at him, or I would forget everything that I was supposed to be doing. Taking my knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut the rope then coil it around my arm before tying a slipknot, surprising even myself when I manage to not cut one of my fingers off in my distraction.

He smiles as he takes the rope coil, our fingers not touching this time. “Were you a girl scout?”

“Organised, group activities were never really my thing, Mr. Grey.”

This causes him to raise a brow. “What is your thing, Anastasia?” He asks, his voice soft, that smile back on his face, causing me to internally fumble for words again.

“Books.” I whisper, wishing suddenly I had more exciting interests.

“What kind of books?” He cocks his head to one side, confusing me with the interest,

“Oh, you know. The usual. British literature, mainly.” He rubs his chin as he contemplates my answer. I have to get off the subject, his hands are distracting me too much. “Anything else you need?”

He glances down at the items he’s holding. “I don’t know of anything, what else would you recommend?”

“It’s hard to recommend something when I don’t know what the project is.” He smiles at this, but doesn’t provide any information. “Just basic do-it-yourself?”

Grey nods, his eyes alive with humour again. I flush, and when I drop my eyes they come to rest on his jeans. “Coveralls.” I say without thinking, my eyes instantly flicking back to his face, horrified that I hadn’t screened my thoughts enough to stop myself from saying that. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing.” I continue, gesturing vaguely towards his pants. Digging myself deeper into this grace.

“I could just take them off.” He says, his voice light and teasing. But the smirk on his face is anything but. I feel the colour in my cheeks rising again, but I don’t know what I can say in response to _that_. Thankfully, he continues after a beat, his voice dry. “I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I ruin any clothing.”

I try and dismiss the image of him without jeans, it’s not what I need in my head at the moment.

“Do you need anything else?” My voice comes out almost squeaky, but he shakes his head and changes the subject as I hand him a pair of coveralls.

“How’s the article coming along?” He finally asked me a normal question, one without any innuendos or seemingly hidden meanings, and I grasp it as if it were a lifeline.

“I’m not writing it, Kate is. My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She was thrilled with your responses.”

“I hope she’s feeling better.” He responds, genuine concern in his voice.

“She is, much. She’s just having a hard time deciding on which photo of you to use for the article.” Grey’s brow furrowed slightly at this.

“Would she like an original? I’m around tomorrow.”

“You’d be willing to attend a photo shoot?” I ask, my voice squeaky again. Kate will be over the moon if I can pull this off. _‘And you might see him again tomorrow.’_ The voice whispered again, and I try to dismiss it. It’s harder to ignore, this time.

He shrugs, as if I’m asking nothing of him. “Sure.”

“Kate will be delighted – if we can find a photographer.” I’m so pleased that I grin broadly at him. I notice his lips part and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks almost lost, before his face is wiped clear of the expression.

He clears his throat. “Let me know about tomorrow for sure.” He says, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He removes a card from it, holding it out to me. “My card. It has my cell number on it, you’ll need to call before ten in the morning.”

“Okay.” I’m still grinning up at him. Kate is going to be thrilled.

“Ana!”

Paul, Mr. Clayton’s youngest brother, has materialized at the other end of the aisle. I’d heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn’t expecting to see him today. “Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey.” I turn away from his frown, and Paul barrels towards me and hugs me, hard. It takes me by surprise, but Paul has always been a buddy, and in this moments it’s great to talk to someone who’s normal.

“Ana, hi, it’s so good to see you!” He gushes.

“Hello Paul, how are you? You home for your brother’s birthday?”

“Yep. You’re looking well, Ana. Really well.” He grins at me as he examines me at arm’s length. Then he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It’s good to see Paul, but he’s always made me a little uncomfortable with his over-familiarity.

When I glance up at Christian Grey, he’s watching us with speculative eyes, his mouth in a hard line. In those few moments he’s changed from kind and warm to someone else – someone cold and distant.

“Paul, I’m with a customer. Someone you should meet, actually.” I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Grey’s eyes. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic as they seem to weigh each other up. “Er, Paul, this is Christian Grey. Mr. Grey, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns this store.” I’m babbling now, but I feel like I have to keep explaining until the warmer Grey resurfaces. “I’ve known Paul ever since I worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton, he’s studying business administration.”

“Mr. Clayton.” Christian says simply, holding his hand out, his look unreadable.

“Mr. Grey.” Paul returns the handshake, then pauses. “Wait – not _the_ Christian Grey? Of Grey Enterprises Holdings?” When Grey gives him a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, Paul goes from surly to awestruck. “Wow – is there anything I can get you?”

“Anastasia has It covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very _attentive_.” His expression is impassive, but his words make it sound like he’s saying something else entirely. I don’t miss the inflection on _attentive_.

“Cool,” Paul responds. “catch you later, Ana.”

“Sure, Paul.” I watch him disappear towards the stock room. “Anything else, Mr. Grey?”

“Just these items.” His tone is clipped and cool, and the smile he gives me looks forced. Trying to figure out if it was me or Paul that had offended him, I take a deep breath and head for the till.

I ring up his items, handling them carefully. “That’ll be forty-three dollars, please.” I glance up at Grey and wish I hadn’t. I’m instantly unnerved by his gaze, intent and smoky as he watches me closely. I take his credit card. “Would you like a bag?”

“Please, Anastasia.” His voice almost caresses my name, and my heart skips ever so slightly. I can hardly breathe. “You’ll call me if you want to do the photo shoot?” He’s all business once more. I no and hand back his credit card.

“Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps.” He turns to leave, then pauses and turns back to me. His smile is back, smaller than before, but this one at least reaches his eyes. “Anastasia, I’m glad that Miss Kavanagh couldn’t do the interview.” He strides out the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder. I spend several minutes staring at the door, long after it has closed behind him.

_‘Okay, I like him.’_

There, I admitted it to myself. No reason to hide from my feelings anymore, I’ve never felt like this before.  I know it’s a lost cause, and that him coming here was mere coincidence, but I can admire him from afar, surely. No harm can come of that.

I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Kate and organize a photo-shoot.


End file.
